So now—after crying, hugging, lecturing him, lecturing myself, and basically hosting a full emotional TED Talk—we're finally sitting at the dining table.
The apology table.
The table with pancakes, soup, fried rice, and my dignity somewhere under the chair.
Jiang sits across from me, hair still flat on one side from sleeping on the table all night, antenna doing this soft blink… blink… like he's trying to act normal but keeps short-circuiting.
He holds the spoon like it's some rare artifact humans use only during rituals.
I push the soup toward him.
"This is for you. So, uh. Eat."
He nods, picks up the spoon… and blows on it like a five-year-old tasting hot chocolate.
My heart hurts. My heart actually hurts.
"Is this apology food?" he asks suddenly.
I choke on air again. "Wh— why would you call it that?!"
